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twenty tfennete 
ffc California 



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EMMF PENDLETON 



WM. M. ALEN, PRINTER 
RED BLFF. CAL. 




COPYRIGHT. 1912 

BY 
EMMET PENDLETON 



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TO 

MY MOTHER 

THESE TWENTY SONNETS 

ARE RESPECTFULLY 

DEDICATED 



272988 



COPYRIGHT, 1912 

BY 
EMMET PENDLETON 



Q 

When these sonnets were written, they were 
not intended for publication, but friends encourag 
ed that they be put in book form, so I now set them 
forth to face the ordeal. I, myself, do not place 
much faith in their merit, for they were never writ 
ten from a literary standpoint. They were a sort of 
a diary. What ever impressed me I commented 
upon it in this manner, therefore their meaning 
is clearer, and they are of greater interest to me 
than they would be to any reader. 

This book was to have been publishd several 
years ago, but owing to a few rhythmic errors, 
that were found when the book was near complet 
ion, flaws that had escaped my notice when I had 
read the proof, the work was discontinued for the 
time being. That book would have contained ov 
er thirty sonnets. I cut them down to the present 
number because there appears such a marked 
contrast between my earlier and later thoughts. 
Quite a few of the sonnets included in this pamph 
let were written during my High School days. 
My reason for not publishing my later sonnets, 
although I personally feel that they are more 



Foreword 

worthy, is that since these presented were to have 
formed the nucleus to that book, and as this is the 
fulfillment of those previous plans I feel I should 
not change the contents. 

One person suggested that I should have shown 
more respect with my dedication. Perhaps I 
should! However, I know, my mother saw their 
growth, knows their crudity, understands their 
clarity, and at least for my sake gives them an ap 
preciation. 

I take this means of thanking Mrs. Emma 
Cogswell of Klamath Falls, Oregon. She was 
very kind to encourage and help me in this work. 
I am also especially indebted to Wm. M. Allen, of 
Red Bluff, California. He was the first to see 
any worth to these sonnets, and it is entirely 
due to his untiring efforts that they are placed in 
this book form. Several other friends have given 
timely suggestion, and I sincerely appreciate their 
interest. 

Emmet Pendleton 

Red Bluff, California. 

May 1, 1912 



CONTENTS 



1. To a California Sunset 

2. To Amos Edwin Clark 

3. To a California Springtime 

4. To my Peach Tree 

5. To Tuscan Buttes 

6. To Mrs. Blanche McCalvy 

7. To a California Sunrise 

8. To a Pine Tree 

9. To Mount Shasta 

10. To the Game 

11. To William M. Allen 

12. To a Rose Bud 

13. To my Grandmother 

14. To Home 

15. To a California Goldmine 

16. To a Cactus Plant 

17. To Sister Mary Berchmans 

18. To the Sacramento River 

19. To the Pacific Ocean 

20. To a Friend 



Q 




Q 



The entire western sky is all ablaze 

With many splendid pyrotechnics grand, 

That burn up brightly in King Hesper s land, 

For great Apollo s sparkling daily rays, 

Whose final gorgeous colors now amaze, 

Do best since they have reached their nightly strand; 

And Zephyrus shifts upon the scene a band 

Of fleecy clouds with ev ning s quiet haze. 

The eventide is here. The closing day 

Is marked with aspects grand of Nature s store, 

An end befitting of the greatest thing; 

And now from this magnificent array 

Of color and of quietude, what more 

Could one expect the Last Great Day to bring! 







II 



To Amos Edwin Clark 



His eyes are of the grayish pearly blue, 

And rather short he wears his flaxen hair, 

So rightly one can call him extra fair; 

Tis he of all the boys I ever knew 

(You truly know that they have not been few) 

Whose many qualities were fine and rare, 

And yet a boy so full of life and dare, 

Whose lasting friendship proved to be most true. 

These thoughts of him recall a joyous time, 

Those rapid flying dear old High School days, 

That now to me have lost their weary strife, 

But thus remain as being most sublime, 

And bring the wish that those dear happy ways 

Will follow his as well as all my life. 







Q 



*"f-\ /A 1 (t * 

I o n Cyciuioi iun 







The fragrance of the manzanita flowers 

Is calmly whiffed in gentle air to fill 

The country wide; the rocky glade and hill, 

Which chaparal converts to snowy bowers, 

In warming sunshine bask in tranquil hours, 

And in the fields with animated thrill, 

The golden poppies nod in beauty still, 

While idly in mid- air the buzzard towers. 

The spring-time s here; while nature s worthy sap 

Is rising in the plants with ardent swell, 

To cause them all to bud and do their best, 

The blood of mankind in a drowsy nap, 

Feels not this inward energetic spell 

But dreaming yearns for melancholy rest. 







IV 



To My 



Penoh 



My lonely peach tree has just been in bloom, 
And filled my garden with a quaint perfume, 
That gentle blowing breezes did consume, 
To scatter in the outdoor s spacious room; 
But winds, though gentle, are not good to groom 
A dainty blossom touched with fairy fume, 
And caused to burst forth freshly from its glume 
A spring s glad tidings over winter s gloom. 
So now the flowers are gone. A very few, 
Who knew its beauty, could appreciate 
The dainty workmanship of each pink flower, 
But yet if they did not, the insects knew, 
And worked most ardently from morn till late 
At night in joyous buzz about that bower. 







V 

f .. 





o tisonn 



Those mighty Buttes of hard volcanic trass, 

That have thus stood through ages safe and sound, 

Survey the country wide for miles around, 

And stand as land marks in this plain so crass, 

A plain of rocks, just one lavatic mass; 

Their value is not much, it will be found, 

But yet I love the grandeur they abound, 

The sparing coat they wear of brush and grass. 

They saw the two extremes of human race: 

The Diggers live their lives in artless way, 

And idly rove this valley so heartfree, 

And then the white man come and take their place 

With all his crafts, his struggle day by day. 

I wonder now what are they yet to see! 







ex 



VI 

XX 



Co Mrs, iMaaolta MoGnb/y 



Those grapes of Zeuxis won for him a name, 
And caused the birds to sing a roundelay; 
Parrhasius, of that same ancient day, 
By his great curtain picture gained the same; 
Acanthus gave Callimachus his fame; 
Apelles picture set beside a way 
Did cause the horses all to loudly neigh, 
That near this rudely treated picture came. 
But why consider men of days gone by, 
When we have equals at the present date, 
Who paint with such a ceaseless pain and care 
They do much more than to deceive the eye? 
I ve seen the rose in such a perfect state, 
The air was filled with every fragrance rare. 











VII 



Co n On Hfo rain SunrUo 







The last pale rays of Phosphor do their worst, 

And fondly lingering gives his final flings 

Of light to earth. A cooling breeze then brings 

A group of fleecy clouds that slowly burst 

To thus display Aurora, who is first 

To wake and cross the sky on lightest wings; 

Apollo then through morning s portals springs, 

And for his daily course shows eager thirst. 

It is the birth of day. A soberness, 

That follows close upon the somber night, 

Is lifted with the dew from off the land, 

And now the earth, so full of sprightliness, 

Gives many hearty cheers with all its might 

To California s morning, fine and grand. 







VIII 
zxx: 



.Co n 



XX 



Consider how that pine on yonder height 

Has grown to such a tree among those rocks, 

To make all others seem to it as mocks; 

It too was once a sapling green and bright, 

That grew and loved to grow in warm sunlight, 

Until each branch o er others interlocks; 

And now old age bring many worldly knocks 

By mars of surly knots and sooty blight. 

How like unto our lives! The others strived 

To gain this same great stately prominence, 

Which now this one by great Ambition s thrill 

Has gained through snowy storms and fires, and lived 

As if it were designed by Providence 

To thus become the pride of this vast hill. 











IX 

XX 



To 







This high and mighty mountain of the North, 
So massive and with such a contour bold, 
Would fascinate the Grecian Gods of old 
Till famed Olympus soon would lose its worth 
For them, and they would then come forth 
In joy to revel, when the sun would mold 
The snowy brow to most attractive gold, 
Such as they never did before in mirth. 
Tis magic; for all that survey agree 
This pond rous mound of earth is but a guide 
That casts o er all a noble influeuce, 
To climb, to grow, be big and thus to see 
The hills, the valleys and the country wide 
And be beheld in great magnificence. 







OX" _ =30 

X 



To Uu) G; 



I laughed a sneering laugh at grewsome Fate, 

The chances all in all were oh, so few, 

And each of these I felt I so well knew 

To win and always win at any rate, 

That I ne er stopped for once to contemplate 

That even I would meet a Waterloo, 

My luck might change, calamity ensue, 

That I might lose my all when hours grow late. 

The time did come. The torture of my mind 

Made me a demon to the circumstance; 

A nervous fever then my thoughts so whirled 

That anguish made existence one hard grind. 

It all was gone. Not even hopeful chance 

Was left to help me turn to face the world. 







XI 



To William H Alka 



Q 



The fervent spirits to create abound 
In Man, that, satisfied in striving thrill, 
The pleasure of creation, there is still 
Desire, when imperfection is so found, 
To yet continue. Flaws are all around; 
For the beginners, each with timid will, 
With faults their simple works no greater fill, 
Than masters, whose gigantic arts astound. 
Ambition to create expands the mind, 
The World thus gains, but imperfection s strife, 
Caused by our short existence here below, 
Infects all earthly things, therefore we find 
Works badly, but gives proof of second life, 
The great completeness of our time here now. 







XII 

xx: 



To n llo-so :Vl 



But yesterday I found a bud in down 

Of youth; it was so fragrant and so fair, 

I wished to pluck it then, but left it there 

Until it still more beautiful had grown; 

But now to-day I find its beauty flown, 

A change has come, the bud is stripped quite bare 

Of all its charms, so that I do not care 

To pluck it since it is a rose full blown. 

And so procrastination has gained nought 

But mars the thought that beauty did enthrall, 

And make me hold myself in true disdain. 

For very avariciously I sought 

To gain still more, but have thus lost it all, 

For that same bud will never bloom again. 































XIII 








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To my Qrmnlaiotlwr 
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1 


Can one gain favor from those grewsome Fates, 
Whose hateful austere looks befit each head, 
Those three, who ever spin the f^rnsy^hread 
Of human destiny? While each bdates, 
Will they see that true kindness thus belates 
When they shall cut the shred with shears of lead, 
To have another life add to the dead, 
Amid a dirge of laughter from those mates? 
Yet they are good. They gave you favored time, 
By granting partial acts from year to year, 
A life of seventy and eight to bring, 
And robust sprightliness from health sublime. 
So may you still live many Summers sear, 
Before you see the long eternal Spring. 




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XIV 



rot 



So oft to me a peaceful air will come, 

Amid the irksome strife of each long day, 

And cause in true kaleidoscopic way, 

My mind to rush like changing billow s foam, 

To pleasant thoughts of that dear place called home; 

Its great influence over me each day 

Is such, I could forever with it stay, 

Without desire about this world to roam. 

I love this place beyond my pow r to tell 

In words so limited, so very few, 

To me its real, its quite unbounded worth; 

For it has cast o er me a magic spell, 

Until that with exceptions none, I do 

Now hold it is the dearest place on earth. 







XV 



* To n Cnilfor.unOoM Muu&gt; ^ 



The gold, the gold, the cravings of the man! 

That calls him to the Indian Wars no more, 

And lured him to the cold of Arctic shore$! 

But hardship never seemed to wan but fan 

The cravings, and undaunted still he can 

With modern ways thus take from earth s deep core 

The precious metal that he does adore, 

As time has changed the cradle and the pan. 

For Nature s secret stores great grist and grind 

Must Man endure through long laborious days, 

To separate the good from worthless pelf; 

So causing question thus to come to mind; 

Was Nature fitted just to suit Man s way5 ( 

Or for mantainance Man adapts himself? 







XVI 



To a Cnocm 



I have an ugly spiny cactus plant, 

A true disgrace unto my garden plot; 

It is unsightly, for it is besot 

With spots and scars and things appurtenant; 

But late it showed a bloom so elegant, 

A dainty blossom of the fairies got 

Astray among my flowers of common lot, 

A waxen beauty so extravagant! 

So judge a thing not as it may appear, 

For one knows not what capability 

May lie concealed behind the roughest mask, 

To burst forth into beauty and good cheer, 

And unto life the greatest pleasure be 

If left to do aright its given task. 







XVII 

To SUtoi Mary ki ohmnm 



With lilies of the field what can compare! 

What other flower that grows about the land, 

Can breathe a breath of adoration grand, 

As does those lilies that grows lofty there 

In sweetest purity, so chaste and fair? 

They waver not in Time s fast running sand 

To mundane toilsome ways, but stately stand 

In solemn reverence a beauty rare. 

For all of purity, so fast akin 

To godliness, the truths of Life revere, 

And with bowed heads the noblest thoughts adore; 

And in this busy age ensnared in sin, 

I am so pleased to have one friend sincere, 

Whose goodliness with lilies can compare. 





















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XVIII 










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Thus onward do these waters ever run, 
A surging stream at willy-nilly pace, 
That dances, changes yet at every space, 
As if they do enjoy the sparkling fun 
To so reflect the world s deep blue and dun; 
Then rushing on as if in fiercest race, 
Find relaxation in a soothing place, 
Where, idly flowing, bask in warming sun. 
It is most humanlike. This surging stream 
Of mindless populace, propelled by time, 
With outstretched hands trys hard to grasp the bank, 
And catch one proof of their dear treasured dream, 
But, getting none, flows on with hopes sublime, 
For Death to add them to its unknown rank. 




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XIX 










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Were I an ancient Greek, that I might hold 
This stretch of water reaches to that land 
Where Oceanus rules; and see so grand 
Dear Amphitrite and her Neptune bold 
Pace steeds of brazen-hoofsfnanes of gold, 
Along these foamy waves which wash this sand; 
And hear loud Triton s blast; and see there stand 
Among the dolphins Proteus so old. 
Yet still I stand entranced. This changing sea, 
Whose motion so attracts and binds the eye, 
That ever swells, and flows, and ebbs^spell, 
Is with the mind of Man in sympathy 
For waves unsettled, ever dashing high, 
An inward soul that rushes on pell-mell. 










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Could I but send to thee a worthy line, 
A really animated word or two, 
That would express my sincere thoughts of you, 
My love, my wishes, hopes for thee and thine! 
Could I but write in polished verses fine, 
As Shakespeare did his love, nought would I do, 
But turn my passions loose, my love thoughts true, 
And spend these long, long days in writing rhyme. 
It takes the gifted genius hand to mold 
A sonnet to a pleasing work of art, 
And make each word a treasured souvenir; 
So why should I, so giftless, try unfold 
In rudest language, feelings of my heart, 
The sentiments that are to me so dear? 




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BERKELEY 



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